


First Firsts or Room #612 Revisited

by Magik3



Series: Kitty told me to name this series [13]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Cute, F/F, First Kiss, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:34:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magik3/pseuds/Magik3
Summary: Kitty and Illyana finally get Doug to hack the X-computers and send them back to the hotel where they first had some quality time alone. They start talking about firsts, re-enacting some and having others.





	1. First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> It starts out cute and fluffy with the recreation of their first kiss and then it's going to go some smuttier places. But still cute, of course.

  
That morning, in the shower, I was remembering the one time Kitty and I had snuck into the empty hotel room. Waking up together in the morning sunlight and realizing we had much too little time for what we wanted. We got into the big shower together and discovered that water hitting the surface of her skin all over also helped her stay solid.  
  
At least until the hot water ran out. Then she yelped and phased and I had to come up with a plausible cover story for how I ended up with that bruise on my chin.  
  
I wanted her back in the shower with me. Not here in the mansion, but far enough away from prying eyes, sensors and minds.  
  
This was all I could think of when she said that Doug had hacked the X-computer to get us sent back to that hotel for a weekend. Kitty masterminded the plan. She spent weeks figuring out when everyone else would be too busy to notice this suspicious mission to double-check that there were no exploding laser robot spiders at the hotel. (Of course if there had been, they’d have been obvious well before now.)  
  
“We could go to dinner first,” Kitty suggested once it was set up. “Like a real date.”  
  
“Yes, all right. I will go on a date with you,” I told her with a wink.  
  
“Are you sure you don’t need to ask me?”  
  
“One moment,” I said.  
  
I went down to the first floor dining room where Storm had put some of her flowers in big vases on the tables. I pulled a few from the vases, not enough for anyone to miss, went back up and held them out to Kitty.  
  
“Kitty, would you go out on a date with me?”  
  
She looked at the closed door, jumped up and kissed me. Sat back down fast, because it was the middle of the day. “Ohmigosh, I’d love to.”  
  
And that was our first official date. We drove into town. Ordered and started eating food I was not paying any attention to. In the middle of our meal, two nice-looking young men came up to ask if they could join us. I don’t know why men do this. I missed the part where they learned it; must’ve been junior high school.  
  
Kitty gave me the look that said: _please don’t hurt them._  
  
I gave her the look that said: _I would not dream of it, considering how it might jeopardize my ability to lock myself into a hotel room with you and take off all your clothes rather methodically in about 30 minutes._  
  
At least I hope that was the look I gave. She seemed confused, so I probably messed it up.  
  
Thickening up my accent, I told the young men, “I am sorry. If we were working tonight, you could not afford us and anyway it is our night off.”  
  
I’d found that combining a strong Russian accent with any ridiculous thing tended to work on Americans. And it did on them. They left us very quickly.  
  
Kitty had her face tipped down, hiding her smile. She looked up through her eyelashes at me and said, throatily, “Are you going to keep doing that accent?”  
  
I dredged my memory for a suitable Russian saying and came up with:  <One can't spoil porridge with butter.>  
  
“Are you done eating?” she asked.  
  
“Were we eating? I was just sitting here moving food around thinking about … other things.”  
  
She put money on the table, grabbed my hand and pulled me up from my seat. Dropped my hand and preceded me out of the restaurant, then grabbed it again in the parking lot, dropped it in the hotel lobby but I caught her hand in the elevator and wouldn’t let go until she needed both hands to find the hotel key in her rather big purse.  
  
The room was untouched except for the bags we’d dropped when we checked in. The tightly made beds seemed much too pristine in the still air.  
  
“I feel like this isn’t ours,” Kitty said.  
  
She crossed to one of the beds and picked up a pillow. Holding it in her hands, she walked back to me. I watched, unable to figure out what she planned to do with it, until she hit me softly in the side of the head.  
  
I lunged for her and she phased. I hit the side of the bed, managed to roll on top of it and raise a pillow in defense. She jumped at me, pillow swinging. I lifted mine and blocked, then twisted under her pillow and dragged fingertips across her ribs. I hit enough of her ticklish zone that she started laughing.  
  
She bopped my head with the pillow while I dropped mine and concentrated on tickling. Her hands caught my face and pulled me up to kiss.  
  
We kissed for a long time, horizontal across the bed. Her tongue made unvoiced words in my mouth and I answered.  
  
She rolled off me, catching her breath, and said, “I want to try something new, but I don’t know if you’ll like it. And we don’t have to. I just, you know, I think about things and this seemed interesting and I didn’t know if maybe, but maybe not …”  
  
“So far I’ve liked everything,” I said. “And we’ve had a lot of firsts.”  
  
She propped up on an elbow, leaning into me so our bodies touched from chests down to legs. Thoughtful Kitty face: medium wide eyes, wry smile, barely raised eyebrows.  
  
“What’s our first first?” she asked. “When we kissed or … um, before that I guess, when we …”  
  
Cute, blush. I touched her cheek. “When you first touched yourself in bed with me?”  
  
“You started it!” She slapped my belly, so lightly it was more of a caress. Her hand snuck under the edge of my shirt and rested on my skin.  
  
“I was dreaming,” I insisted, so she’d go on arguing with me.  
  
“It better have been of me.”  
  
“Of course. You’re all I dream about. Unless I wake screaming.”  
  
“Don’t even joke about that.”  
  
I put my hand over hers and said, “Then you may not like that I think our first first is when you remembered me after the Beyonder destroyed us.”  
  
“Does that count? I mean, were you there for that?”  
  
“I felt it,” I told her, my fingers pressing her hand tightly against my skin. “Destruction is not as easy as the Beyonder seemed to think. I was somewhere that wasn’t quite a place, very far outside everything I know, but I held on to you. And I knew when you had my soulsword in your hand. It felt like you holding me.”  
  
She turned her hand sideways and played with my fingers. “I like that. I think it’s like how you can help me be solid when I’m having trouble. We bring each other more into the world, become more real together.”  
  
I leaned up, kissed the side of her face by her ear and whispered, “And here I thought that was the sex.”  
  
She laughed, rolled onto me again and kissed my mouth. I wrapped my arms around her hard, pulled her against me.  
  
“Do you remember the first time I kissed you?” she asked during our next pause.  
  
“Yes. Of course. It was months after we started with the mutual mas—“  
  
She put a finger on my lips and said, “Touching ourselves together, separately, in bed.” Her face was stern and smirking. Somehow she could go from girl to lady in seconds, and then maintain that propriety for whole minutes. I kissed her finger and she ran it softly across my lips, pulling it away when I tried to lick or suck on it, and then returning when I behaved.  
  
I remembered there being so much touching during that time when we had been … touching ourselves together, separately. When we hadn’t yet been talking. Friendly touching, but not casual. Flirting, but not quite. We didn’t talk about it and I couldn’t tell what she wanted or how much. I went running a lot in the mornings and stopped in the woods to release the torrents of need that kept building every day we didn’t talk. Because it wasn’t enough late at night, separate, not knowing how she felt.  
  
“You found me in the woods,” I said, not adding that it was pure luck she found me studying and not engaged in another activity.  
  
“With books,” she said with a laugh. “They must’ve weight a ton to carry out there.”  
  
“I have a good backpack. All my sorcery notes were in Russian or Demonic and the Professor was asking questions I didn’t know how to answer. It’s hard to translate when I didn’t learn in English how to do magic and he didn’t understand how magic works.”  
  
“That wasn’t all of it, though. You were kind of upset,”  
  
“After Asgard and then the Beyonder, I didn’t quite feel like a whole person. I still felt, or felt again, corrupted. And I didn’t want to taint you with that.”  
  
“You can’t.”  
  
“I know that now, but then, I thought you were better off without me around so much.”  
  
Kitty frowned, shook her head at me. We’d had conversations about my going away, physically or emotionally, a few times over the last year. She must’ve decided we didn’t need to revisit that topic, because she returned to our story.  
  
“I didn’t like you avoiding me,” she said. “It was … interesting to me to see how much I didn’t like it. I guess I hadn’t caught up with myself. What else is new, right? I knew I liked you, really liked you, but I didn’t know what it all meant, except that when I realized you weren’t around as much, I had to keep finding you. Sometimes I would just phase through the wall into the library and see your hair and phase out again before you saw me, just to know where you were. And I wanted to touch you more.”  
  
“You did. Every time you came into our room. A few times I left and came back to see if you would find a reason to touch me again.”  
  
Her hand had been resting in the middle of my chest, holding her up a little because her body was still half on top of me. I pulled her fingertips up to my lips and kissed them.  
  
“I did, didn’t I?” she asked, now mostly on top of me. Lighter than she seemed, but solid enough.  
  
“Yes. So I made up more errands.”  
  
Her smile widened to a grin. “That thing with your laundry?”  
  
“Completely made up. I don’t even use fabric softener,” I admitted.  
  
“Not ‘made up,’” she said, hand back down to the center of my chest, tapping on my skin. “ … fabricated.”  
  
I failed at not laughing, but said, “That’s terrible. Why that night? Why did you come find me?”  
  
Her fingers fluttered along my collarbones, emphasizing her words. “I thought I should tell you how much I was missing you. But you didn’t come back to the room. It got really late. I couldn’t settle without you being there, so I went looking. Logan was on the steps smoking. I didn’t even have to ask, he just said, ‘she’s in the woods, that way’ and pointed.”  
  
“Good man. But those woods are big, even having a direction.”  
  
“Oh, I air-walked up and saw the glow from your lights through the trees.”  
  
“Smart.”  
  
“That’s what you keep me around for. Well, maybe not you, but everyone else. I walked down when I saw the light and phased through the trees because I didn’t know if I should be interrupting you. And then coming through the last few trees to the clearing with the big rock and you sitting there, books spread out around you and dozens of tiny sparks of light all around like fireflies. You were so incredibly beautiful.”  
  
She said the words looking full in my face and I ducked into the curve of her neck because that was too much. Not that she called me beautiful but the way she said it. Other people said it like it was a curse, “Watch out for that one, she’s beautiful but she’s a demon,” or even the Russian saying that haunted me <She has a face of a beauty, but only hell likes her temper.> Many people acted like my physical appearance was a lie or a trap. They did not say “beautiful” about me like it was a good or wonderful thing. But the way Kitty said it, with awe, made me feel like crying.  
  
Kitty’s fingers curled around the back of my head, tight, needing to be close as much as I did, but her voice was light as she said, “Wait, that’s not right. You were very credibly beautiful.”  
  
I laughed and squeezed her. She snuggled against me, pressed her lips to my hair.  
  
“You were in those ratty old dark gray sweatpants you love, and a sweatshirt from the school, barefoot. Cross-legged, a book open in your lap and two others on either side of you on the rock. You put your hand up and half of the little sparks came to you, this effortless mastery. You directed them to one of the books so you could see it better. Also, you’d tied your hair back with a piece of string because there was a little wind and that was so you: the ragged string wrapped around your hair all golden from the light.”  
  
“The cord from my sweatpants,” I said. “I forgot to bring a hair tie.”  
  
“You read for a bit and stared into the distance with this expression like you were trying to hold the whole world in your mind and … my heart basically fell out of my chest and through my belly and through the world and into infinity. And I got how in love with you I am.”  
  
“From that? Just looking?”  
  
“Because you’re so like me and completely not like me. You understand when I can’t think everything at the same time but I’m trying. But you do it differently. And I love that counterpoint, being alike but not. Knowing each other but always discovering.”  
  
“Yes,” I said, but I could not improve on her words, so I told her, “When I first saw you come out of the trees, I wondered if this was a vision or conjuration. Then I saw what you were wearing and it was definitely you.”  
  
“I was in my pajamas.”  
  
“Half of you was,” I reminded her.  
  
“Oh, that’s right. I’d put on my pajama top and then realized I didn’t want to go to sleep without you.”  
  
“Yes, the pajamas you adore and over that you had a cardigan, not buttoned, the one with green and orange stripes that I think shouldn’t look good on you but looks amazing. So blue diagonal stripes under horizontal green and orange and then you were still wearing a skirt and thick stockings and little boots, so small they almost should not be called boots. And I thought no one could have pulled a vision from my brain dressed like that.”  
  
“Should I dress like that more often as a defensive measure?”  
  
“Of course. You know how I feel about you in skirts.”  
  
“Oh. Yes.”  
  
I liked how this felt: the two of us close, weaving the story of our first kiss in the shimmering air between us. I told the next part, “I patted the stone and you sat next to me and let me try to explain magic to you. But you asked so many questions that don’t make sense in the world of magic.”  
  
“I was scared. As soon as I sat down, I wanted to kiss you and I realized, I think, you’d never been kissed before.”  
  
“True.”  
  
“And I hadn’t … it felt like I hadn’t really kissed someone, not in a way that wasn’t part of a fairy tale I’d made up, not really someone I was as close to as I am to you, not where messing it up would be a disaster.” Saying that, Kitty rolled onto her back, looking at the ceiling but not seeing it. Looking more at the memory of us.  
  
She said, “You made all those glowing images in the air on top of each other and it was fascinating but at the same time really disorienting — that was the first time I understood that magic is a complete system, as much or more so than science because it’s older. More people have worked on it. And I really did not get it at all. Like you were trying to teach me calculus but I didn’t know how addition worked and for sure not multiplication. For a bit it was like you were so much older than me and I intensely didn’t know how to kiss you. I hadn’t really thought … I mean, I study a lot, hours a day, but for years that was all you did, all day, every day, sometimes all night. People think I’m the genius, but you had memorized books backward and forward, and you could spool out these ideas and show how it all connects.”  
  
I told her, “I wanted to show you but it was like explaining dance in words. Not so effective. But I liked you there, listening, interrupting.”  
  
I turned onto my side and she did the same, our faces inches apart. I remember in the woods, I’d turned to Kitty to see if the latest thing I said had made any sense to her, and she was staring at me, so intense. I couldn’t think what to ask her.  
  
“And then you kissed me,” I said.  
  
“Like this.”  
  
She bent forward and put her lips on mine. Soft as a winter’s dawn, not rough and fraying like my lips usually are. Here, now, I could feel all of her mouth on mine, but in the woods I had frozen in shock and she’d pulled away sooner than I wanted and stared down at her little boots.  
  
I pulled away now, grinned at her. “No, it was shorter than that. Like this.” I kissed her for a second and drew back. “And then I kissed you.”  
  
“Gosh, I was so relieved you did. I thought … I don’t know.”  
  
“Shh, you’re messing with our recreation.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Start over?”  
  
She kissed me, soft but fast, darting back, looking at me almost as startled as she had that first time. Brown eyes wide at her own daring and afraid of what I would not do next. Then I felt I had only a second to catch her, let her know I felt the same.  
  
I kissed her like that now: almost too much force, holding her lips with mine while I figured out how to kiss a person, how to say so many things all at once without speaking. I remembered how our lips had moved in increments, working out how we wanted to be kissing each other.  
  
Her hand had come up to the front of my sweatshirt and grabbed fabric, to steady herself, maybe, or to hold onto me. She remembered this because she did it now, too, with my shirt, only this time tugging at me more than she had the first time.  
  
Where had my hands been? Hard to remember when I had been busy memorizing her lips. I put one on the outside of her arm as she held onto me and the other had been braced on the rock for a long time and then, carefully, on her shoulder.  
  
We were not exactly the same, not each tiny gesture, but we managed to kiss for a while only lips on lips, as we had that first night. Again I tried to learn everything I could about her lips, laying this new memory over the older memory. Making each moment, remembered and present, more perfect.


	2. Almost First Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "new thing" Kitty wants to try is unveiled but not brought into play quite the way anyone planned.

“You started off saying you wanted to try something, have we done it yet?” I asked.  
  
Kitty blushed and then she blushed a lot more. “Um, no?”  
  
“Is that a question because you’re not sure we tried it or you’re still not sure I’ll like it?”  
  
“That second one. It’s in the car. I could go get it.”  
  
“I don’t know what could be in the car,” I said. “But if it’s going to make you keep blushing, yes, go.”  
  
We’d parked in back of the hotel and she phased down through the walls and came back a moment later holding a crumpled brown paper bag. Not small. She sat on the side of the bed with the bag in her hands, not opening it.  
  
“I didn’t see this in the car,” I told her.  
  
“I phased it into a space that’s not really visible, in case someone else wanted a ride in with us, you know.”  
  
So whatever was in the bag had to be very hard to explain away.  
  
I took it out of her hands, opened the top, looked in. Stared long enough that I was sure I was seeing what I thought I was seeing, which, all things considered, I hadn’t ever seen before, though I’d heard about and had once seen an ad for.  
  
  
“How did you …?” I couldn’t figure out where that question was going.  
  
Kitty pressed her hands between her knees for a moment, got up, paced away, came back, sat down, all the while talking: “I phased into one of those adult video stores, you know, really late at night and left some cash on the counter. Is it okay? I was afraid you’d think that I want you to be a boy or something and I don’t. I really like what we do, I was just curious.”  
  
“Of course you were, my Katya, you’re curious about every single thing.”  
  
“Yeah.” She brightened. “I hadn’t thought about it back then, because it was so long ago, like years, but when we were in space with the Shi’ar and the Starjammers and that Brood business.” She shuddered at the mention of the Brood. “The Shi’ar have this amazing clothing machine. I mean, it will make you anything. I could’ve had an exoskeleton. I made some dresses. And when I was playing with it, there are all these settings for … sex stuff. I didn’t try them but I sure looked at ‘em. And a few weeks ago Berto was making some terrible joke, but it reminded me and then I had to go see what the Earth versions were like.”  
  
“And you liked this kind?” I asked.  
  
“I thought maybe a lot of them would be cool to try out, but the selection on Earth is way more limited,” she said.  
  
I laughed. “How long has this been in the car?”  
  
“Oh the whole time. The car was my hiding spot. There aren’t good hiding places in the house because you never know when we’re going to get infested with alien robots, or whatever. And if it was near our room and someone found it … I didn’t want to have to try to explain that. But because I can phase, I could get it into a part of the trunk, behind the regular trunk, where nobody was going to just stumble on it. You’d pretty much have to take the car apart and it’s not one of the cars Wolvie likes.”  
  
“What else do you have hidden around the estate?”  
  
She gave the secret, pleased smile that said she was glad I’d thought to ask and that she was also not going to answer.  
  
“Can I open it?” I asked.  
  
She nodded, playing with an edge of blanket on the bed. I pulled the box out of the plain brown bag. There were photos involving two very airbrushed women who didn’t look completely sure of what they were doing. The tape at the top had already been cut. Kitty must’ve taken it out to look at. What expression had been on her face then?  How long had it taken her to determine she wanted to try this? I flipped the cardboard top open and pulled it out.  
  
“It’s very purple.”  
  
“I thought it would be better if it wasn’t too lifelike.”  
  
“Good idea. Which of us did you imagine would wear it?”  
  
“Both, I guess.”  
  
She looked very uncomfortable, which is not how I liked things in bed. And I figured, I’d learned to make and use a magic sword forged from my own soul, this could not be more difficult than that.  
  
There was more in the bag, so I pulled out a set of leather straps and buckles that looked very interesting, and a black lacy bra that would not fit me.  
  
“If this is yours,” I said, holding up the bra. “This must be mine.” Tapping the straps.  
  
“If you want to. I mean, I really don’t want you to think you have to. It’s fine if you don’t.”  
  
I leaned close and whispered, “I like everything we do together. I think I’ll like this too.”  
  
She kissed me but my bravado faltered as I realized that this was something I’d prepared for much less than everything else. I had fantasized about kissing Kitty long before I did, and about touching her, about being inside her with my fingers, but not with … how did we even? And what did it mean?  
  
She stopped kissing because I’d frozen in thought. Pulled away and examined my face.  
  
“Katya, when do you think we stopped being virgins?”  
  
“Um, huh, yeah.”  
  
She got up again, moving in the room and counting on her fingers. Fluttering some as she thought, being a lot of elbows. I let my eyes follow her, focused on the present but also the past.  
  
She said, “Definitely before the last time we were here, even though you don’t usually … I mean, because then I phase and it’s awkward.”  
  
“Because I’m not usually inside you? But you’re inside me a lot, in all kinds of ways. Do you think that’s what we count from? That time after Magus? That was the first time, I think, with your fingers. But I don’t like this focus on our sex looking like boy-girl sex. It doesn’t seem right.”  
  
“But that was also the first time we really touched each other and, you know.”  
  
“Came?” I offered.  
  
She grinned in the rarely-seen I’m-as-dirty-as-you-but-I-like-you-to-say-the-words grin. I got off the bed and caught her face between my palms, kissed her hard. She pressed into me, held herself up with her hands on my hips.  
  
I nuzzled the side of her face, her hair tickling my skin, and said, “So the first time we made each other come, then we weren’t virgins anymore. And since then we have both been inside each other in many ways. But still I think this new thing you’ve brought, it’s bigger. I don’t want to hurt you.”  
  
“Um.” Her cheek pressed against my shoulder, her face turned away. “What if I already tried it?”  
  
“You …” I stepped back, arms-length, holding her out so I could see her very dark red blush. Looked at the toy I’d left on the bed, back at Kitty. The desire burning under my skin becoming a painful need.  
  
I let go of her long enough to grab the toy off the bed. Running a finger along its ridged length, I asked, “This, you … and you liked it? Clearly, yes.”  
  
She nodded. “Is that okay?”  
  
“When?”  
  
“A few weeks ago. You were off with the New Mutants and I missed you. You’ll think I’m silly. I took your sweatshirt to bed with me and it just seemed like a good time. There’s this spot in the attic no one can really get to. I put a blanket up there ages ago and used to go up there to just read. It’s not big enough for both of us, so I hadn’t been up there in a while, but I took the, um, toy and your sweatshirt and, yeah.”  
  
Toy still in hand, I crossed the room to her and pushed her back against the wall, kissing and biting everywhere except her mouth, as I pressed the toy between her legs, so I could hear her whimper. I rubbed it against her, making her feel the ridges through her pants and she pressed forward to feel more.    
  
“How did it feel?”  
  
She shook her head. I put one hand in the middle of her chest and stepped back, my body and the toy held away from her. The dismay on her face rearranged itself into defiance.  
  
“Big,” she said. “And full and heavy. I pushed my shirt up and rubbed your sweatshirt across my breasts to stay solid, like you were there with me.”  
  
“Did you come for me?”  
  
She glanced away, the color back in her cheeks. “Of course I did. And then I fell asleep curled up with your sweatshirt and woke with a horrible leg cramp.”  
  
“I’m sorry I missed that,” I told her and slid my hand up from her chest to the side of her face.  
  
She pulled me back to her, brought my hand and the toy between her legs again. I wondered how long we had until both of us came standing against the wall, fully dressed, with the toy attached to no one.  
  
“What about you?” she asked, breathless because I was licking under her earlobe and still pressing the toy between us. “What if I also want to try with you?”  
  
“It’s not too big. I fucked myself with all kinds of things in Limbo?”  
  
“What?!” her shriek was as much delight as surprise. Her hands clenched around my shoulders. “Illyana Rasputin, what did you say?”  
  
I repeated myself more slowly and with a bit more accent, “I fucked myself with all kinds of things in Limbo. I was the only teenager there. I got bored. And there were a lot of candles.”  
  
“Wouldn’t the wax …?”  
  
I shrugged. “Well, I started with a wooden hairbrush handle, well-sanded but too thin. Metal dagger, too cold.”  
  
“You put a dagger in your …?”  
  
“The hilt! Lords, Kitty, the hilt! And, okay yes, once the dagger in its scabbard, but it was also too thin. I wanted to try a sword hilt, but the length of the blade made it really impractical. Ornamental bookends, badly weighted. So then candles because I could find about any thickness I wanted. I learned a containment spell to keep the wax where it should be and that kept me pretty well entertained for most of age thirteen.”  
  
Her hands moved from my shoulders down to my ass. She was holding me so she could grind against the toy that had aligned itself between her legs and against the front of my jeans.  
  
“You never told me this before,” she accused, punctuating her words with pressure between our hips.  
  
I was leaning into her, pushing her harder against the wall, one hand curled around the back of her head as I kept kissing the side of her face and neck, the other hand keeping the toy very beautifully aligned.  
  
“In what context would it have come up?” I whispered, thrusting against her, feeling how good this was now and how wonderful it could be without clothes.  
  
“I light candles all the time.” Her words made hot puffs of air on the side of my face. Her fingers had become claws, insisting on a particular rhythm from my thrusts, a specific amount of force.  
  
I mimicked my own voice trying to sound too casual, “By the way, Katya, that candle you’re lighting is about the same girth as my favorite fucking candle from Limbo — like that?”  
  
She pushed my hand off the toy and replaced it with hers so she could shove it back against me.  
  
“You know we’re calling this the candle from now on,” she said as the toy rubbed hard through my jeans, against my clit.  
  
I groaned and forced out the words, “What did you call it when you used it before?”  
  
Her lips brushed my ear and she whispered, “Ilya.”  
  
Her hand held the toy and I wondered if this what was it felt like to be a guy with his dick out. Exposed in the best ways. Or perhaps simply to be a person, all intimate nerve endings held in the hand of the girl I loved, responding to every slight change of touch, focused on her as the whole world.  
  
I felt only slightly the places her body touched mine, the awareness that her lips moved on my skin. Felt much more strongly the conduit of power between her fingers, her palm and my core. Inside out, not the way I was used to, her touch all outside my body instead of inside, but so much the same pressure and openness, wanting, being present to only her actions.  
  
The spasms started in me, the rush of pleasure going up and wetness bursting down between my legs. I thrust into her hand, corresponding wash of wet, again and again.  
  
When the world had reassembled, Kitty was holding me up. She pushed us the few steps to the bed and I fell back. Her hands opened my legs wide. She looked there for a while and then her eyes came up to meet mine with an exceedingly wicked look.  
  
She said, “I saw a boy come in his pants once. A wet spot right here.” Her thumb circled an area on my inner thigh and I squirmed. “I wondered what that felt like.” Her fingers slid down and in, forcing wet denim and cotton against my sensitized skin. I gasped.  
  
“The other girls at school couldn’t decide if it was a mark of pride to make a boy come in his pants.”  
  
“Yes,” I choked out.  
  
“What I saw wasn’t very big. I was kind of surprised. I thought boys had more stuff, you know, and I guess some do. But this …” she circled an area between my legs with her fingers. “I could be proud of. Do you think we could make it bigger?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
“These jeans are the perfect color, and fit. Is it cheating if I do this?” She put her mouth between my legs, pushed the soaked seam of my jeans up into me.  
  
I didn’t have to answer. Couldn’t have anyway.  
  
On top of this pristine bed with my boots still on, jeans on and getting soaked, the fabric hot against my skin but starting to cool at the edges.  
  
Kitty didn’t phase, she just pulled my zipper open and slid her fingertips in until she found my clit through my underpants. That didn’t allow for a lot of dexterity, but it didn’t matter. The tightness of my jeans pressed her fingers into me and she only had to rub slightly to send jolts of pleasure through me. Especially since her lips and tongue worked between my legs, playing with the textures under the wet denim that was getting wetter from both sides.  
  
She’d set the toy on the bed when she wanted to put both hands on me, and I found it, held it as if it were part of me, attached to me, which didn’t make sense but also, very much, did. The bed was too tightly made to grab blanket, so I knotted my other fist around an edge of pillow.  
  
When I started coming, Kitty pressed her mouth and tongue against me like she could drink my orgasm and I came in waves, spasms, wracking my body.  
  
I was gasping, hazy, and she said, “Okay, yeah, I’m pretty proud of that.”  
  
I leaned up so I could look down: wide open zipper, flash of underpants, broad and very dark wet denim between my legs, up toward my zipper where Kitty had licked, extending to the top of my inner thighs.  
  
“Should be,” I said. “If I’m the guy, do I get a nap?”  
  
She reached across the bed to where I still had one hand curled around the toy. “Doesn’t look like you need one.”


End file.
